


Bonds We Forged

by sylveos (alexxir)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dealing with isolation / depressive moods, Depictions of Battle, Intoxication, M/M, Politics, Post-War Grief, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-20 18:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30008952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxir/pseuds/sylveos
Summary: In the outskirts of Fódlan's north-east, rumours of kidnappings unsettle the remnants of the old Alliance nobility. Dimitri, isolated as king and restless from his menial courtly endeavours, ventures out to learn more.Meanwhile, on the other side of the border, Claude grows weary from petty politics. When word catches on that their cross-country treaty is under threat, a diplomatic trip is swiftly arranged.An accidental reunion. A terror unknown. And old, forgotten feelings, buried underneath duty and obligations, rise to the surface.Set in a post-Azure Moon timeline.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester & Lysithea von Ordelia, minor Dorothea Arnault / Ingrid Brandl Galatea, minor Lysithea von Ordelia/Cyril, minor My Unit | Byleth / Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 19
Kudos: 40
Collections: Dimiclaude Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For this fic to look as intended, please allow custom workskins!

  


**7th Day of the Garland Moon, 1188**

****

_Dearest Lady Ordelia,_

****

_I received your previous correspondence in regards to those... rather troubling matters._

****

_Under regular circumstances, I’d insist you pay a visit to our manor so that we could privately discuss your findings. However, I can only understand preparations for the wedding ceremony have kept you busy enough. My congratulations again, by the way. It will be an honour to attend such a momentous occasion._

****

_But I digress. I must thank you for confiding in me. While it is fitting that I be kept abreast of unusual and suspicious activity from a political standpoint, as your friend, I am touched that you wrote to me personally._

****

_You seemed rather insistent we lay low on the matter for now. I must express my grievances on that. Anything that may aggravate the border and impact Gloucester trade lines is a threat that cannot be taken lightly, and if tensions seep back into those existing arrangements, we would be hopeless in a repeat of that latest raid. Certainly a disrespect to the efforts our leaders worked so hard for._

****

_It is why I am planning to go out there myself, when the time permits. Ideally as soon as possible, but you of all people know how difficult that can be to arrange. There’s no need to fear for my safety - I will be accompanied by the finest of Gloucester-trained knights, and am only bringing a small retinue - “laying low”, as per your wishes._

****

_I am also looking forward to witnessing the Locket’s transformation for myself. The daily juggle of my noble obligations has, rather unfortunately, left me quite preoccupied. Perhaps I’ll see if I can send correspondence to Riegen while I’m there. Surely someone will know how to reach Fódlan’s ambassador, as slippery as he may be._

****

_Keep well, Lysithea. I will endeavour to send word once I am on route._

****

_With warmest regards,_

****

_Lorenz Hellman Gloucester_

****

****

Shaking, Lysithea tossed the letter into the hearth. Her eyes blurred with tears, unable to watch as the flames lapped up the parchment eagerly, crumbling it into soot. _That fool_. 

****

****

  


****

**

**6th Day of the Garland Moon, 1188**

**

********

********

Soft rays of light spilled into the chambers, warming the room’s inhabitants and casting long, deep shadows from the stone columns to the floor. The light was heavenly, but the heat was rather unfortunate. 

********

In the centre of the room was a large oak table. Currently seated at the foot of the table, hands raised high and whipping wildly about to punctuate what Dimitri was certain was an embellished tale, the minor noble preached his case to the court. He hadn’t paused for breath in quite some time, although Dimitri was hardly listening. Could hardly see him, either, what with the summer glow obscuring his face. The king squinted harder, trying to catch the last few words - 

********

“- and your Majesty, I assure you, it was nothing short of _blasphemy_ , encroaching on the route that I sowed-” 

********

The complaints melded together into one endless, grating whine. Between the unusually warm weather, his fifth royal viewing for the day, and the dredges of a migraine creeping up beneath his eyes... Dimitri needed out. Preferably immediately. 

********

“I appreciate your concern,” he said, straightening up a little. The noble spluttered like a fish, obviously flustered from being cut off mid-sentence. “But I’m afraid without Lady Itha present to confirm her side of things, we’ll have to arrange another time to meet.” 

********

The noble looked ready to combust. Dimitri couldn’t care less. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, this issue would be resolved if you would personally decree my ownership-” 

********

“Which I will not do without her say on the manner.” Polite, but firm. No room for disagreement. “I have another arrangement to attend to, so you will excuse me.” He stood up, adjusting the lapels of his coat. “I will send word during the Blue Sea Moon for further arbitration.” 

********

It wasn’t best manners to leave before his subjects, but given the circumstances, Dimitri felt he could be forgiven. 

********

He strolled out of the room, briskly making his way to his personal quarters. If he was lucky, of which he seldom was these days, there would be time to send for a healer to ease the throbbing in his head, and perhaps a spare moment to shovel down a hunk of bread before his next appointment. Anything would help.

********

“Your Majesty!” 

********

_Except that. Of course_. He spun around, trying, and failing, not to let irritation bleed into his expression. He hadn’t even set foot into his room yet. “Yes?” 

********

“My apologies for the interruption.” To the messenger’s credit, he looked ready to cry. Whether that was from Dimitri’s frustration, his anxiety, or a combination of both was anyone’s guess. “You said the eyrie should send word whenever official correspondence came in from Duscur, so I came straight away.” 

********

_Dedue and Byleth_. 

********

A sigh of relief escaped him. Straightening his shoulders, he smiled at the young errand boy, seeking forgiveness. “It is appreciated.” 

********

The messenger was eager to part with the letter, hurriedly bowing once again before he scuttled out of sight. Dimitri watched him go with a frown. He could not recall the boy’s name. 

********

Once inside, he lay out the parchment across his oak desk. The letter itself was rough in places, slightly crumbled; a sure sign it had been on the road for some time. Most curiously, through, was a dried and pressed flower attached to the top most corner. Its shape resembled that of a small lily; it bloomed a dull lavender shade and when Dimitri pressed his nose against it he was greeted with a faint smell of citrus. 

********

_Dimitri,_ the letter began. After a day of royal titles, it was a sight for sore eyes. 

********

_I hope you’ve been keeping well._

********

_Talks are progressing slowly. Dedue is spearheading the conversations, and I am finding myself a proxy for Fódlan more than anything else. He thinks it helps that I do not have noble blood, that I am unrelated to Faerghus leaders. They don’t trust me yet, but Dedue thinks they will soon._

********

_Since the disband of the military border, things have been much easier. Thank you for trusting us on this. Not that you needed our consent - I’m sure you’d been thinking the same since assuming the throne._

********

_There’s still much work ahead of us. For now, the best we can do is pose no threat, and lend a hand or two where needed. We have our hands full in construction at the moment, but it’s nice to be of assistance. It’s satisfying work._

********

_I’ve enclosed a flower from Duscur we’ve cultivated. It’s called a Bikovo. It’s been dried and pressed to survive the trip, so I hope it makes it to you in one piece._

********

_I’ll be back late Verdant Moon for a visit. Perhaps we could celebrate Dedue’s birthday then._

********

_Byleth Eisner_

********

********

The signature was hard to read. Fresh, wet smudges stained the parchment and obscured the ink. Dimitri blinked a few times, and found himself shaking when the palm of his hand sought to rub clear his blurred vision. 

********

No longer feeling steady enough to stand, he collapsed into an awaiting chair, barely conscious that his free hand gripped the edge of the desk like a vice. His breath came to him in quiet, hiccup-like sobs. 

********

The small, insistent part of him knew he should be happy. Seeing them flourish, enjoying each other’s company, making slow and steady progress is… _should..._ be sweet. 

********

The loud, pressing part of him _ached_. Something rotten in his very core, an empty chasm that swallowed up the news into the void and spat out something bitter in return. The sobs persisted, and the feeling crystallized into a single, solemn thought. 

********

_I miss them._

********

****

********

  


********

**  
**

**4th Day of the Garland Moon, 1188**

**   
**

********** **

********** **

Loose robes and hand fans never did anything for the heat. 

********** **

Every surface was a furnace, every window a glimpse at the blinding summer sun. Lounging in the shadiest part of the room, grimacing, Claude wondered if the five years in Fódlan had weakened his resistance to it after all. 

********** **

It was the peak of midday. Almyra’s council had recently adjourned, as was custom for this time of year. Not even the most weather-hardened generals could stomach a full day of politics like this; instead, the afternoons were spent recuperating and resting until the night skies brought the cool change and a much more conducive work space. 

********** **

If Claude had his way, the break would run in all seasons. It gave him _time_. The morning could be spent soaking in intel, observing miniscule changes in presentation, taking stock of certain attitudes on _this matter_ or _that law_. Come their parting, he could then divert his full attention to weaving the political ball of yarn together and scrutinising it for a common thread. Then, by the evening, he could stand a little taller, speak with more authority on whatever subject captivated the council that day, and watch his seniors ever so slowly shed the contempt they’d worn for him since his return into something more akin to respect. 

********** **

Exhausting work. 

********** **

He groaned, throwing his head back against the plush cushions. The sweat on the back of his neck clung to the woven fabric of his robe, but he was barely conscious of it. The day’s political drama centered on rumours around the quantity of goods being imported into the capital. All eyes were on him. The blame implied but never said out loud. _Aren’t the Fódlaners your children to deal with_? 

********** **

Truth be told, Claude had caught wind of this _weeks_ ago. The foreign teas and armory that his country had grown fond of had ever increasing demand, and while the merchant guild had never struggled to keep pace, something felt… off. Less merchants were passing through the throat, and the ones that did come through brought less stock than ever with them. 

********** **

He rubbed at his temples, letting his mind wander freely. Was there supply shortages in Fódlan? Unlikely. The teas were imported from Gloucester territory, and his friendly ~~spies~~ _assistants_ hadn’t reported any harvest issues from his old pal’s estate. He didn’t have any sources in Adrestia that could confirm nor deny the metalwork shortage, but that was neither here nor there in peace time. Besides, the border guard had not reported any recent inter-country scuffles. The council would have a _field day_ if even a murmur of tension caught their attention. 

********** **

The only true hard evidence he’d gathered is that a small handful of traders on route never showed up on schedule. Always Fódlan merchants, never Almyran ones. Was there foul play at hand? Sabotage maybe? 

********** **

A quiet knock on the door drew him out of his thoughts. A familiar five tap pattern. He sat up, blinking. 

********** **

“My liege.” 

********** **

“Come in,” Claude replied, recognising that low unassuming drawl. 

********** **

The back of his foot tapped the door closed behind him. Claude always found that particular quirk of his refreshing, knowing that his crew weren’t noble servants, but skilled, worldly citizens with little care for proper manners.

********** **

“I assume you bring good news?” 

********** **

“A bit generous.” The man named Armin gave a little snort. He sat himself next to Claude, did a quick scan of the room before continuing. “Gloucestor Junior is on route to Fódlan’s Throat.” 

********** **

Claude went stock still. Speak of the devil, and ye shall summon him. _Lorenz was on his way east_? 

********** **

“Why?” 

********** **

“No idea yet.” Armin looked down then, suddenly in thought. “He didn’t take a full travelling entourage with him. Just a handful of knights.” 

********** **

If the room between them was silent for longer than appropriate, neither of them mentioned it. Claude’s eyes cast upwards, expression deeply pensive. 

********** **

“When do you think he’ll arrive?” 

********** **

“In a couple more days. Hard to know if this is an urgent trip.” 

********** **

“It’s not for leisure, that much is clear.” Claude stood up. He paced back and forth as his mind buzzed with questions, rapid fire on his tongue. 

********** **

“There weren’t any merchants in his retinue?” 

********** **

“None they could see. Just the knights.” 

********** **

“And still no reports of affected crop harvests? Labourer shortages?” 

********** **

“No. Aside from the missing personnel who never checked into the guild, it has been business as usual.” 

********** **

The two talked through Armin’s other reports. Nothing more of consequence came up, and after a short while, Claude dismissed him with a smile and a clap on the shoulder. 

********** **

One thing was certain, Claude thought, reaching for a fresh scroll of parchment and a quill. Whatever the issue, it was more serious than he had anticipated. 

********** **

********

********** **

  


********** **

**  
**  
**

**????, 1188**

**   
**   
**

************ ** **

************ ** **

Lorenz came to with a start. 

************ ** **

As he tried to breathe in, pain throttled his lungs, and the shock of it made his eyes water behind closed lids. 

************ ** **

His eyes opened slowly. 

************ ** **

Memories were trickling in. He tried to piece them together to find the cause of his pain. The campfire, burning bright but contained. The polite commoner folks who had offered to merge camps for extra security, smiling and sharing stories as the low light of dusk faded into night. Their screams, ringing through the dense wood, jolting him awake, reaching for his lance in response as surely as six years of war had taught him so. And now, here, on his back, head ringing and struggling to breathe. 

************ ** **

The _thump-thump_ of weight against wood caught his attention. Staying as still as he could, he let his eyes dart around for the source of the noise. On his left, bodies were being dragged across the forest floor and hauled up to be loaded into the body of a large wagon. It was too dark to make out many details. The people moving around, the ones whom he now remembered now as the attackers, were eerily methodical and practised in their movements. 

************ ** **

"How many more?" 

************ ** **

Lorenz honed in on the unexpected voice. It rang out from somewhere far behind him. 

************ ** **

"Two. One of them seems to be noble." 

************ ** **

"Good. We'll take them directly to Lavinia. Make certain the noble is dead. His body will be useful." 

************ ** **

He could hear approaching footsteps as ice chilled his veins. 

************ ** **

_Think, Lorenz, think_. To his right, the soft brays of a horse alerted him to a potential escape. If he could somehow make it past the assailant unscathed, he could push his luck and bolt for it. He remembered being blasted with a nasty bout of miasma before being knocked unconscious, so he needed to be careful. If the assailants could use black magic, they were decidedly _not_ your average bandits. 

************ ** **

Before he could form a plan, a shadow blocked his line of sight. Cold, beetle-like eyes stared right back at him. 

************ ** **

Everything happened at once. 

************ ** **

With a grunt, Lorenz raised his palm and shot a Fire spell directly into the cloaked figure's face. A knife was poised to strike back but the magic was faster, and the attacker shrieked, dropping the weapon to claw at their searing skin. The blade slid off Lorenz's chest as he sprang upright and scuttled to his feet. 

************ ** **

The darkness of the woods made running a herculean effort, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins propelled him ahead with surprising speed and dulled out the throbbing pain in his lungs. He narrowly dodged another bout of miasma from his left, hearing a scream in frustration when the spell exploded against the closest tree instead. 

************ ** **

A familiar neigh caught his attention. _Oh, praise the goddess_. Waiting under a tree, looking disheveled and alarmed but not visibly hurt, was his beautiful Bronte. The mare was startled at his approach, but on recognition of her rider, stood to attention with a nervous huff. _You wonderful, beautiful thing_. 

************ ** **

He leapt up onto the saddle just as an arrow whistled by his shoulder. He cracked the reigns and she moved like lighting, sensing her riders panic like second nature. 

************ ** **

"He's getting away!" 

************ ** **

A sharp, bursting pain broke through the adrenaline. Lorenz yelped. Force of will kept his hands steady on the reigns, urging Bronte as fast as she could go. A glance to his left shoulder confirmed what he feared - the crude head of an arrow had lodged itself firmly into his skin, gluing his night silks to the dark blood slowly oozing from the wound. 

************ ** **

The sounds of shouting and commotion grew distant. Lorenz was not a fool to be complacent. Surely they would give chase as quickly as he did, and would already be on their way to find him. 

************ ** **

Through some miracle (or excellent breeding) Bronte had steered herself back on the main travelling path, much easier to navigate than the dense part of the forest. He knew it was not safe to remain on the road for much longer - it would be too easy to track him down, and with his injuries, he could not be certain the limits of his stamina - but if he could make it out of the woods, from there he could simply focus on gaining ground and finding any signs of nearby civilisation. 

************ ** **

Time began to blur. He was conscious of his ragged, heavy breaths, and the pain that had been staved off by his survival instincts was now back in full force. It was hard to focus on anything concrete in front of him, even as his mare left the sparse tree clearings into open, rolling fields. 

************ ** **

In the corners of his sluggish mind, Lorenz thought back to the camp. It dawned on him that the bodies being lugged away had to have been both his knights and the merchants alike, and the realisation that he may be the only living survivor bought a fresh wash of guilt along with it. 

************ ** **

He was not one to admit wrongdoing. His pride would seldom permit it. But as his physical pain grew stronger, so did his resistance to regret. Perhaps if they had split camp, they would have not made such visible targets - _Sothis_ , perhaps his retinue would have caught their cries for help and arrived on scene fully prepared instead of being caught up in the ambush themselves. 

************ ** **

Soon it became a struggle to hold onto the reins. It was too dark to make out where he was going. Too dark to think. His consciousness was sand through a sieve. 

************ ** **

A shout in the distance. The approaching sound of hooves. A question shouted at him that didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Nothing was dark, nothing was everything, and nothing was all there was.

************ ** **

************

********** **

********** **

**  
**  
******  
**  


**10th Day of the Garland Moon, 1188**

************** ** ** **

************** ** ** **

Dimitri had retired for the night. _Had_ retired, until now. Lounging in his private quarters, trying to stave off a particularly nasty headache, a palace maid had come inside to announce Lady Galatea’s arrival for his urgent attention. 

************** ** ** **

Few people on Fódlan had the privilege of seeing the king so late in the evening. Ingrid was an exception to the rule.

************** ** ** **

Clad in only a matching set of satin pyjamas, he ushered the knight in not long after, not bothering to dress in something more befitting for his station. Ingrid had seen him in worse after all. 

************** ** ** **

By her apprehension, onlookers would've been fooled. Her eyebrows shot upwards. "I can wait until you've changed." 

************** ** ** **

Dimitri chuckled, shaking his head softy. "It's just the two of us, is it not?" 

************** ** ** **

"I suppose." 

************** ** ** **

She nervously fiddled with the frillings on her coat, eyes never leaving Dimitri as he made himself comfortable over at his guest table. He gestured for her to sit, pouring himself a cup of tea from the tea service. 

************** ** ** **

"I apologise again for the interruption," she continued, sitting down. "I - I thought it best to deliver this message to you in person as soon as possible." 

************** ** ** **

Ingrid's mannerisms were familiar - just as warm to him as the cup of chamomile nestled in his hand. Dimitri smiled, or at least, attempted to. "Not a personal call, I take it?" 

************** ** ** **

"I'm afraid not." 

************** ** ** **

She chose that moment to swallow pointedly, looking towards the door. Much like a cornered animal looking to escape. The concern in Ingrid's voice had Dimitri sit up a little straighter. 

************** ** ** **

"To put it simply - Duke Gloucester was almost slain near Fódlan's throat." The king barely had a moment to process her words before she continued. "He was travelling with merchants bound for Almyra at the time. The intel he received suggested it was a premeditated attack by skilled assassins." 

************** ** ** **

Just like that, the warmth in the room had been swallowed up and replaced with ice. 

************** ** ** **

As he waited for her to continue, he watched her eyes drift off to focus behind him; focus somewhere far, far away. "He's requesting a royal audience at once, but is deep in recovery from his injuries, and too ill to make the journey here himself." 

************** ** ** **

Dimitri nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. 

************** ** ** **

"Of course, I could make the journey myself right away," she said, fiddling with the ribbon on her hair braids. "I will need the morning to wrap up some affairs with Dorothea, but-" 

************** ** ** **

"There's no need." 

************** ** ** **

Dimitri took a moment to breathe deeply, willing his panic down. "I will go myself." 

************** ** ** **

Ingrid finally faced him then, eyes wide as saucers. "Your Majesty, surely that would be impractical-" 

************** ** ** **

"-but necessary," he assured. “I have several affairs outstanding in Leicester I can take care of during my trip.” 

************** ** ** **

Ingrid seemed at a loss for words. Her nervous fiddle turned into an insistent tug. “If you’re sure it will help”, she spoke after several seconds of confused silence. 

************** ** ** **

Dimitri stood up. He paced back and forth. Sensed Ingrid’s eyes on him, watching him carefully. “I take it you don’t have much more details on the nature of the attack?” 

************** ** ** **

“I’m afraid not. The letter was vague - the report was mostly delivered verbally by a Gloucester messenger.” 

************** ** ** **

_What did this mean?_ Dimitri’s thoughts spiralled rapidly trying to make sense of the news. As far as he had gathered, trade in the region was as robust as ever. In fact, his reports were full of praise ever since the treaty had been well and truly established. Hiccups were few and far between, and any incidents had certainly not involved _murder_ , not less the attempted murder of a prominent noble. 

************** ** ** **

Dimitri’s stomach clenched. He couldn’t afford to stand idle on matters like this, not in anything regarding the treaty, not after the hard work they had all put in- 

************** ** ** **

“I will leave at noon tomorrow.” 

************** ** ** **

Ingrid froze. If there was protest on the tip of her lips, she remained silent, for now. Her liege had made his way to his desk, shuffling about papers and folders likely in an effort to search for something important. With a satisfied noise, he returned to their table, a letter in hand. 

************** ** ** **

“I know this is sudden, Ingrid, and perhaps too much to ask of you, but I will need someone to help manage my own affairs here while I’m away." 

************** ** ** **

The knight baulked, cheeks flushing a lovely shade of crimson. “Your majesty, that is… what I mean to say, I couldn't possibly-” 

************** ** ** **

“The council will work together on most senior matters. I would need you to assist with my daily schedule. It would be nice to have someone I can trust to keep an eye on things.” 

************** ** ** **

“While I am flattered, truly, surely… surely it’s unwise to leave on such short notice-”

************** ** ** **

“I know, Ingrid.” He looked to the window then, moonlight streaming through the glass to illuminate the table, intermingled with the warmth and glow of their candles. “But I have to go.”

************** ** ** **

He held her eye contact as she searched for something in his expression. She must have found it, for she looked away and leant as far back on her seat as her knightley posture would allow for. Dimitri didn’t miss the way she used her teaspoon to swirl around the contents of her tea, stewing on thoughts he could only guess at, before she sighed and placed it down on the saucer.

************** ** ** **

“Why are you really going, Dimitri.”

************** ** ** **

Ingrid rarely used his name these days, preferring to default to honorifics as much as possible even in private gatherings. She was the only one these days, aside from maybe Ashe, who wouldn’t, couldn’t budge on the formality. But Dimitri had noticed with Ingrid, at least, there was a tenancy to call him his name only when she demanded something of him not as a king, but when she wanted honesty and his personal thoughts, and while it was a step in the right direction of their kinship, in this moment it was nothing but bittersweet.

************** ** ** **

He sat back down. He bought his palms together under his chin, and glanced at his tea while he spoke. 

************** ** ** **

“I need to know if Almyra is involved. If this is… related to trade.”

************** ** ** **

_I can’t let our hard work go to waste. If I can hear what happened from Lorenz directly, I will know for sure_.

************** ** ** **

Ingrid’s brows briefly furrowed before they cleared in a moment of clarity. “So this is about the treaty?” Dimitri nodded. “I - I think I understand. I know this means a lot to you.” Dimitri’s relief was short lived; her eyes narrowed in suspiciously. “Don’t think I approve of this idea. I think it’s dangerous to depart with only a verbal message to rely on. But you’re our king - I can’t stop you.” When Dimitri met her eyes again, he only found a weary concern muddled over them. “Just… be safe, ok?”

************** ** ** **

Dimitri reached for her hand, lifting it to place a gentle kiss against her fingers. “I promise.”

************** ** ** **

The disarming worked; Ingrid blushed a pretty shade of pink, and coughed, straightened up in her seat. “Right. Well, you better fill me in on the things I need to know in your absence.”

************** ** ** **


	2. Chapter 2

  


****7th Day of the Garland Moon, 1188** **  


Lorenz came to with a start, for the second time in recent memory. Was he making a habit of it? Goddess, he hoped not.

Everything _hurt_. HIs limbs felt like lead, his head bloomed with a dull, throbbing pain, and he was acutely aware that his left shoulder ached whenever he moved it more than an inch. Not even his noble sensibilities could stop him from groaning in response.

“You’re awake!”

A booming voice cut through his misery like a knife through butter. It took him only a second longer to recognise it. He hadn’t heard from him in years. Surely…?

Opening his eyes confirmed it. Peering over him, face distorted in a blend of relief and worry, was none other than his old classmate, Raphael Kirstein.

The blond raised a hand to his forehead. “You had me worried for a while there, pal. Didn’t think you were gonna make it.” He removed his hand to place it firmly on his hip. “Can’t believe this is the first I’m seeing you in a while and you’re all messed up!”

Still as earnest as ever. Lorenz groaned again, and tried to sit up. Well, _tried_. The throbbing at his temple screamed at him and his eyes screwed shut, desperately willing for the inferno to calm back down.

“Woah there.” Raphael leaned over and grabbed his shoulders. Tentatively. The gentle giant showed a gratuitous self restraint of strength that Lorenz was thankful for when any movement felt like agony. As if reading his thoughts, Raphael continued, “You probably shouldn’t be moving much. Maven said you need to keep still and get lots of rest.”

Lorenz slowly opened his eyes again. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Where am I.”

Raphael inched backwards and stood up a little straighter. “Guess you don’t remember much, huh.” He gestured around the dimly lit room. “You’re in our church’s infirmary. I took you here when we found you on the road.”

Lorenz let his eyes wander. He was in a small room with a tall ceiling, the only light source filtering in from a stained glass window. Two beds occupied the space, with the other bed empty, a fine sheet of dust speckled over the sheets. A glass pitcher with water and some parchment occupied the table stand to his left, and to his right, a small wooden chair presumably for guests remained free. His own bed’s down was comfortable enough - a far cry from the silk and wool of his personal chambers, but to his sore body any comfort was a welcome one.

“By 'our', I gather this is your homestead?”

“Sure is!” Raphael’s grin was wide and toothy. “Maven's taking good care of you. He’s doing other priest duties right now, so we’ve been taking shifts each. And my apprentice gets to pick up my slack while I'm out, so I can relax while I'm here. She's so happy about it. Not me being here, but. Getting a taste for knighthood." He raised a sheepish hand to the back of his neck. "Maybe I've been too cautious with her."

Lorenz felt his breathing settle. _He's distracting me_ , he thought in a sudden rush of clarity.

Raphael wafted on about his apprentice for a moment before a hacking cough bought his attention back to Lorenz. He went quiet. Nervously scratched the back of his scalp, and his eyes coasted downwards. "So, uh, are you in trouble?"

Lorenz winced. His brows pulled tight as understanding dawned on him, the last moments before coming unconscious creeping back into his memory-

"There's no need to concern yourself."

"Lorenz, you know you can tell me anything, right?” The knight puffed out his chest. “We're pals. And if someone leaves my pal injured on the side of the road, I'd wanna know who's responsible so I can show 'em what's what."

The sigh that left the noble was low and strained. "It's complicated. What day is it?"

Raphael baulked. "It's, uh, the seventh day of the moon, I think."

_He'd been out for a full day?_

His mind course corrected, trying not to stew in what that meant for his health. "I'm in Goneril territory, correct?"

"Yes, but how did’ya not know- huh. Guess I never told you where I lived."

"H-" Lorenz stopped then to cough out something fierce. Raphael leaned back in, face plastered with worry, and Lorenz faintly shook his head. "How soon could a missive be sent to House Ordelia?"

"To Lysithea?" His face brightened again, and Lorenz swore he was feeling second-hand emotional whiplash. "I'm sure one of the stablehands could do it today. Her place is about a day's ride from here."

It wasn't soon enough, but his choices were limited. "Pick the best rider. They'll be paid handsomely." Lorenz closed his eyes. "Fetch the nearest parchment and quill, if you please. I'm going to need you to scribe."

  


****11th Day of the Garland Moon, 1188** **

Faerghus was never much for scenery. Even in the throes of summer, the lands were neutral greens, browns and greys. Pine forests clustered the roadside like mushrooms on a log, with the occasional mountainous range or two to break up the monotony of it all. What little visual stimulus it provided, however, proved perfect for daydreaming.

The time to himself was… refreshing. Tainted, if left to stew in his anxieties too long, but generally an improvement from the last few weeks spent in court. Travelling meant no last-minute meetings. No erroneous interruptions. No parchment work. Just himself, the noises of trotting horses, and the jostles of the wooden carriage.

The last time he’d been on this specific route, he was headed to the Eastern Church. _Goddess_ , he thought, _had it been so long ago already_? The excitement and nerves coursed through him back then felt distant and foreign, moreso by the contrast of the purpose of his current journey.

Unbidden, memories began to surface.

**** Your Kingliness! Good to see you.  
It really is you, Claude. I must say I was surprised to receive your letter.  
Hah. Did you think you'd seen the last of me?  ** **

A smile escaped him.

**** You’d have to forgive me for thinking so, Claude.  
I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t intentional. And besides, I wouldn’t say all of you were misled. Teach knew I’d be back soon enough.  ** **

Claude donned an outfit Dimitri had never seen him in before. His silk robes were stitched with golden thread, pleated down from his chest to the sash tied around his waist. The fabric of his loose, ruched pants billowed out before neatly tucking itself into long leather boots. To Dimitri’s delight, Claude had grown out enough hair to form a side braid, just like back in his monastery days. The detail had charmed him then, and the imagery of it now made his smile wider.

**** So…. Almyra?  
Cat’s out of the bag now, huh. You’re looking at Amir Khalid von Riegen, current minister of trade and part of the Royal Almyran council. Pleasure to make your re-acquaintance.  
Well, call me stumped. I don’t know what to say, I... You must tell me how that happened over tea some time. If we get a moment to ourselves again.  
I’ll make sure of it. ** **

A rather violent jostle of the carriage startled Dimitri to the present. He heard a faint “Sorry - bad patch o’ road.” There wasn’t any need to apologise. Dimitri told him so. The poor sod stumbled out a “noted, Your Majesty,” and mumbled something to the horses that was drowned out by their trots.

It had been overwhelming, back then, seeing an old friend from a different perspective. Claude was as charming as ever but his cadence was not the same. Around his fellow peers, he was louder, less reserved, and the bite of the Almyran language from his lips was wholly unfamiliar to the king’s ears. Not that Dimitri’s admiration was any less. He admired how the councilman could switch between the two languages effortlessly - one minute, entertaining his entourage with a lilt and tone like poetry, the next, an easy laugh and a quick translation to get Dimitri up to speed.

**** Have you always known the Almyran language?  
What? Oh - of course you’d ask that. Yeah. Tiana taught me Fódlanese and my father taught me Almyran. I’ve been speaking both before I could walk on my own two feet. ** **

Dimitri remembered feeling like the cogs in his mind had snapped into place.

**** I - I see. That - knowing this, I feel I am starting to realise why I knew so little of you, back then...  
Don’t take it personally, Your Kingliness. You weren’t exclusive in that regard.  
I suppose not. ** **

He had received some forewarning about Claude’s hand in Almyra. If “some forewarning” meant “a letter that provided more questions than answers, and left his entire council in a state of shock for an entire month”.

_Dimitri - or should I say, Your Majesty?_

_It's been awhile, hasn’t it?_

_If you agree to it, I’ll be making my way with the Almyran representatives to Fódlan in promises of a treaty arrangement between the two countries. I’ve been in communication with good old Teach, who seems to think things are stable enough to begin having these sorts of conversations._

_I'm sure you'll have a lot of questions for me. I know you’ve only been briefly filled in on what I’ve been up to. I promise I’ll answer some of them. Maybe in exchange for answering some of my own?_

_In any case, it'll be nice to see a familiar face._

_Don’t leave me hanging on an answer, yeah?_

_Claude von Riegan_

  


****8th Day of the Garland Moon, 1188** **

"You _idiot_!"

Lysithea’s words had a bite to them. Lorenz closed his eyes, if only to escape the brunt of her tear-riddled stare.

“I told you not to go sniffing around, and look what happened! You could’ve been killed, Lorenz. Killed!”

If he weren’t already still from the ache of his injuries, he would’ve frozen up. “I sincerely seek your forgiveness, Lady Ordelia, it was most careless of me to-”

“Careless? _Careless_?” Lorenz heard scuffling, and the sound of thrashing about. He opened his eyes to find Raphael had pulled her tight against his chest.

“Lys, he’s all beaten up, you can’t go and punch him-”

“Let go of me!” she wailed, clawing against the knight’s grip. A few seconds later, her arms dropped in defeat. She looked directly into Lorenz’s eyes. He wanted to shrink away. He fought that urge with a swallow and a clear of his throat.

“Lysithea,” he began, gently, “I made a grave error in judgement. I thought it best to help take care of things while you were busy with the wedding-” Lysithea looked ready to pounce, but he waved at her to let him continue, “-but I see now you were right to be concerned. If there is anything I have learnt over the years, it is that you are a strong, capable sorcerer and a scholar without peer, and I only need to follow your guidance, not push against it. But most importantly, I broke your trust. I can only hope that you’ll forgive me.”

Lysithea sighed. She tapped Raphael’s arms gently, a quiet ask to be released, and Raphael obliged, letting her down softly. Her sleeves mopped up the last of her tears and she used the slow, methodical action as an excuse to let the apology hover between them.

“Fine.” The word lacked her usual venom. “As long as you don’t do anything stupid again.”

“You have my word.”

At first, Lorenz was caught off guard - before he could fully register what was happening, she had already lurched forward to throw her arms around his chest. Her head burrowed into his neck. She murmured something into his gown, completely unintelligible, and straightened herself back up again.

“Now that you’ve learned your lesson, did you manage to get _anything_ useful from your endeavour?”

Lorenz cast a look between her, the knight, and back again. Lysithea sighed.

Sensing the tension in the room, Raphael straightened himself up. “So, uh - is there something I should know about? Lorenz didn’t tell me much about what happened, but it sounds like you’re in trouble.”

Lysithea rolled her eyes. “It would’ve been fine if Lorenz had listened to me. But there isn’t any immediate danger to you or your village.”

Raphael frowned, peering back down at her. “You sure?”

“On my word. If that changes, you’ll be the first to know.” She turned back to Lorenz. “Until we gather more information, we need to be careful, not reckless. I’ve put wedding plans on hold-” Lorenz’s eyes went wide, “-and this on full priority. How serious are your injuries?”

He sighed. “Quite serious.”

The goddess must’ve had a keen sense of humour, for as soon as he spoke a cough began to wrack through him.

Raphael grabbed the parchment on the bedside table. “Maven did an assessment on him. Wrote his findings down here.” He handed it to Lysithea, who studied it in earnest.

She raised an eyebrow. “I can see why you’re bedridden.”

Lorenz breathed deeply to try and calm his restless throat. “I’m sure I faced worse during the war.”

If he had intended it as reassurance, it only made his two guests frown. He continued on regardless. “In any case, I would do well on my recovery if I could be back on my home estate. We employ only the finest of healers and physicians well versed in faith and medicine - not that your priest is lacking," he added hastily at the tilt of Raphael's head.

Lysithea tutted. “Are you asking me to play escort?”

“Naturally, if you would be so kind. It would also help me organise my affairs with ease. Just because I am bedridden, does not mean the responsibilities of the Gloucester house remain idle.”

Lysithea tapped her feet. The sound echoed across the room. Finally, her stewing must have led to an agreement, but not before she crossed her arms and jutted her chin out proudly. “We’d have to move discreetly and slowly. Could your noble dignity handle that?”

A small smile crept across his face. “I can handle anything you recommend. It’s the very least I can do.”

It didn’t take long to arrange for their departure. Bronte, now very much settled from the frights of the nights prior, would be tacked alongside the carriage, as she was not a breed accustomed to or suited for pullwork. The coach itself called for specialised supplies - it would have to be fitted with softer padding, to be sure any jostling would be kept to a minimum for the sake of Lorenz’s injuries. Raphael packed an expensive vulnerary to stave off the worst of his pain, a luxury Lysithea had protested but Lorenz was endlessly grateful for. The knight had even managed to sneak in a few freshly baked sweets into their travel satchels. He wouldn’t get to see the way Lysithea’s face would light up on that discovery, but he could easily imagine it. Besides, Lorenz _did_ offer to cover the costs of his stay _with_ interest.

With Raphael out of earshot, well on their journey, Lysithea asked him to recap that dreadful night. Lorenz spared her no details. He spoke about the dark magic, the merchants and knights captured alike, the beady eyes of his assailants. By the end of it, Lysithea was as pale as a ghost.

"No more secrets, Lysithea. I know you know these people. If we are to work together, I have to be told the truth.”

  


****??? Day of the Garland Moon, 1188** **

Claude wasn't prone to fidgeting. Even when nervous, he tended to spend that energy pacing back and forth, or thinking in circles so hard his head would have the audacity to ache about it. Holding the reins of his wyvern limited one of those actions, at the very least. And his mind was kept occupied by analysing the gate guards stationed in front of him.

So instead he fidgeted, looping the leather forcefully around his fingers. At least it suited his current character.

It took a few more minutes to reach the front of the queue.

“State your purpose,” one of the guards droned. It was probably the nineteenth time she had to say that line in the last hour alone.

Claude cleared his throat. “Here from Omur’s guild. Just bringing our exports into Fódlan.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “You a new face?” It was a question, but it didn't feel like one. _She’s sharp_.

“Sure am. Vidarna says my Fódlanese is up to scratch, so this’s my first route.” He could school his mannerisms well enough to look nervously excited, and his answer seemed to satisfy the guard.

“What’s the export?”

“Pine tea.”

The guard hummed. “Picked a good time then. They can’t seem to get enough of it.”

Claude grinned. “It makes a good profit margin, too.”

The guard snorted and held out her hand expectantly. “License and toll fare, please.”

Claude gestured to Armin on the wyvern behind him, who reached into his satchel for the silver and relevant parchmentwork. Once handed over, the guard skimmed through it with a few affirmative nods.

“You said you know Fódlanese?”

Ordinarily, Claude could switch languages with little downtime. But a guild merchant with only a basic understanding would not be able to do the same. So he smiled and took his time. “Yes. Vidarna teach well.” His accent is heavy and layered. “I am better.”

“Good,” she responded in Almyran, “You’ll do fine on the roads then.”

  


****12th Day of the Garland Moon, 1188** **

Stepping out from the carriage and onto the gravel path, Dimitri expected to be greeted by an entourage of Gloucester house staff, the custom so familiar to him now in noble homes that he didn’t think to expect otherwise.

Instead, a small shock of white hair and a fearsome scowl came into view. He peered down, his visible eye open wide.

“Hpmh. Took you long enough!”

Still as blunt as ever. He managed a small bow, working to keep a smile off his face. To anyone else, he supposed her greeting would be scandalous. “Lysithea - what a surprise! I did not expect to find you here.”

The little mage crossed her arms, the roll of her eyes immediately familiar to him in a warm and fuzzy sort of way.

“Lorenz couldn’t keep himself out of trouble, so here I am. I suppose you’ll want to see him soon?”

He nodded, straightening up. “That would be amenable.”

“He’s resting at the moment, recovering.” She could see Dimitri about to speak, anticipation in eyes, and cut him off with a curt shake of her head. “He’ll want to fill you in, not me. I’m sure his attendants will have you settled soon enough.” She managed to smile, relaxing her arms to her sides again. “It’s nice to see you outside that stuffy old castle.”

“It’s nice to be here," he agreed, bowing ever slightly again, regalty be damned. "I wish it was in better circumstances."

Lysithea huffed. “Tell that to the fool when he wakes up. In the meantime, I’ve got to go deal with _the other troublemaker_.”

Before Dimitri could ask who exactly that was, Lysithea had already stormed away.

True to her word, his entourage is easily settled in. The impeccable service of the Gloucester Estate is well renowned, after all. The horses were ushered into the stables, guards into (modest) barracks, and a handful of steely but slightly anxious house staff indicated for him to follow further inside.

Despite the Alliance's very short history in the grand scheme of Fódlan, the manor itself was quite traditional. The masonry of the building could have easily been Faerghus work. That wasn’t that surprising - after all, the Gloucester noble family was of a bloodline from the Elites - the true surprise that captivated him was the sheer attention to detail. Everything was embellished or themed with a floral motif. Nothing was spared - petals in the stained glass windows, floral flourishes in the fabrics and upholstery, vases of freshly arranged flowers in every room. Of course there were plenty of roses, especially of the crimson variety that Dimitri had come to associate with his flamboyant monastery peer, but there were others, too - bold and fragrant lilies, large carnations, mottled and blushing orchards. If the Fhirdihad palace was built to ward the cold away, all stone and pillars and iron bolts, the Gloucester manor was built to ensnare the summer breeze, let the more mild weather of Leicester lands drift through its hallways and perk up even the gloomiest of men.

Before long, he was led into a lovely guest room that seemed to double as a greenhouse. Because _of course_ there was more greenery. The room was composed of floor to ceiling windows, lush ferns trimmed carefully to keep them from spilling onto the tiled floor, and varieties of hedges and indoor moss keeping the flowers all neatly boxed in. Beautiful stone fountains in the shapes of carp were placed in each corner of the room, adding tranquility in with the slow trickle down of water. In the centre of the space, carved out from amongst the green, an arrangement of plush armchairs and a sofa surrounded a table laden with cakes and tea.

Dimitri was quick to the chaise. His joints shifted and popped at first, unaccustomed to the simple pleasure of a chair built for lounging and not for work or travel. The reprieve was… nice. Unexpected, even. He knew he was here on serious business, but for a moment he could pretend he was simply a guest being entertained.

Which is likely why the next words had him so easily startled.

“Well, now. What a happy surprise.”

His head snapped up. His good eye went wide and his jaw slacked most improperly.

Stalling at the entrance, elbow propped up against the wall, was none other than one Claude von Riegan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Minor formatting issues.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please bookmark this fic so you'll be notified when future chapters are released.


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